Eve's Garden Flower
by Elias C
Summary: Jasmine Jolene had everything a woman could desire. Everything but one she wanted so badly.


The deep immersed city was never sleeping, even at night — by the way, who could talk about night, in a gigantic submarine colony? As always, the glowing neons of Rapture were lighting the infinite depths of the Atlantic ocean, the bathyspheres were taking passengers from a place to another, where they wanted to go. An irrational beauty emerged from all these art deco buildings, decorated with the finest furniture and with the best refinement.

Herself, despite her "job" of which she wasn't so proud, belonged to this magnificent whole, Rapture. Where was the dignity, in dancing half naked on a stage, before "gentlemen" whose eyes were telling so much? In what way was it flattering to be observed, scrutinized, examined, studied by the eyes becoming shady due to the alcohol of these men who wanted so desperately to let their worst instincts — the voyeur's instincts — take the lead?

Jasmine Jolene didn't know anything of that. She had everything, nothing to complain about. A beautiful silhouette, shiny blonde hair, a unique and mesmerizing gaze, classy clothes, lots of fancy jewels made with the finest precious stones... No, that wasn't enough.

What she truly liked, was company. To feel loved, surrounded, taken care of by a group of persons in which she belonged. Her own "elite", her family, because in the end, she didn't have one before.

There were the other girls, the dancers and waitresses of the _Eve's Garden_ with their ridiculous clothes. She liked to laugh with them like a teenager when an interesting client came through the doors of... of what exactly? What was the purpose of this structure? A cabaret, a bar... not a brothel, though some clients were apparently thinking so. Jasmine didn't know.

Maybe Sander Cohen too, and these nice young men whom he liked. Although she didn't like the artist, the man and his conversation pleased her, he was interesting and, somehow, charming. Of course, Cohen was frightening, Cohen was... dark, unhealthy. From him, she felt something really black, even more than his latest short movie, "The Black Dream". Jasmine didn't know.

Then there was Sinclair... The good old Augustus Sinclair, the genius businessman, with the bright smile and the charm he owed to his calculated manners. She would have compared him to a feline, smooth as velvet but dangerous as a mouth full of sharp fangs. After all, dangerous, he had to be, for becoming that rich and successful in such a city. In the end, he hid his tricks behind sweet appearances, wasn't he? Jasmine didn't know.

And, more important than everything, there was... _him_. A man who wouldn't be described properly with some words. A man who, instead of being a conformist and listening to what the society said, took an opportunity and made possible something that wasn't to the common people. A man who was the living proof that dreams are here to be fulfilled.

Andrew Ryan.

Each time she heard this name on the radio, each time she read it on some huge ads with bright colours, describing how fabulous Plasmids were... Jasmine's lips were distorted in a sincere smile, her cheeks reddened, of a true red, not the one she used to make her skin look fancy, no, the real read of passion, true as truth.

For if there were an only word, in the sentimental lexicon, which could have caracterized the emotion she felt while seeing the hard but promising face of Andrew Ryan, it was, without a doubt, a wild passion. Even more than love, it was a crazy worship, an admiration without limits. Why bother setting limits when we know we'll exceed them?

However, and in spite of all the satisfaction brought by her privileged relationship with the absolute master of Rapture, something was missing. And this, unlike everything she posessed, she couldn't buy. A wonderful fur coat? A bag made of the finest leather? A large suite at Olympia Heights? No problems, all she had to do was asking.

But Andrew Ryan's love? Certainly, it was another problem.

First, there was this... this _bitch_. Jasmine couldn't think of her otherwise, this Diane McClintock, who stayed hooked to _her_ Andrew, who proclaimed herself his loved one and his soon-to-be wife... No! He couldn't love such a... tasteless woman, without ardour, without this great will that herself had. Sure, she was beautiful and had a good reputation... But it wasn't only about that. She believed it will all her heart.

Furthermore, even if it hurt her, she had to admit it: not once, during his many visits at her place, during these passionate embraces they shared, had he told he loved her. Here and there, marks of affection and tenderness, but never the verb "love" never left his lips, these lips that belonged to her, that the Eve's Garden finest flower would be keeping for herself, as her legitimate property.

As dictated by Rapture's philosophy, she earned the favors of Ryan with the sweat of her brow. Wasn't she entitled to this love she wanted so desperately?


End file.
